Answers, for all their relief, come to you so slowly,
The question sometimes forgotten in their pursuit.
Days pass by, months even, and you’re no closer than square one.
Unable to move ahead because there is no path
That feels stable enough,
That won’t crumble when you take the first step,
and you realise that you’re stuck for a while.

Patience came to me to talk, saying I need her.
I ask her, but why? Why? Why?
I have asked the question, and it has flown out of the window.
How long does it take to find the answer?
Why won’t it come back to me?
Why must it be so difficult?
Why must I need you?
All this while I hold her tight, because there is nothing else I can do.
Because these questions will fly out of the window too,
And their weight will stay on my shoulders
And I have asked too many questions now to stand up straight.

I look for places I can run away to for a while,
Scouring the internet for rates and cheap tickets,
All while I know that even this is a way to run away,
because those tickets remain in my browser history
and I never check into those hotels
But the feeling of running away remains.

Slivers of relief come sometimes when I talk to the window,
And ask about the day answers have come back home
Holding the Question’s hand. Fitting together. Making sense.

And sometimes, the Answer is a No. When the Question comes back
With an answer and they only stand side by side,
sometimes looking a little sad.
The answer, so much heavier than the heaviest question I had asked.

The wait has been so painful, because the answer becomes
Clearer by the day with the lingering silence
Echoing, echoing, echoing.
Who could have thought that silence can echo so painfully?

I wear these questions like chains around my ankles,
Shackled till the answers comes to free me.


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